


Dance

by kalijean, SLWalker



Series: Arch to the Sky [71]
Category: due South
Genre: Arch to the Sky, Chicago (1998), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalijean/pseuds/kalijean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August 1998: Awkward date, leads to awkward first-time sex, which leads to revelations and realizations, before Ray and Ren finally figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The background noise of the city was muffled under the heavy air; above, the sky was clear, though drowned out by light pollution and it felt like there was gonna be a thunderstorm. Just that sense that something crackled and roared off in the distance, too far away yet to be heard, but it made its presence known anyway by other means.

Or maybe it was the still jittery Mountie Ray was trying to dance with that gave off that impression.

Ray wasn't sure.

"Relax," he said again.

The shoulder under his hand twitched. And Ren huffed out a little laugh, shaking his head slightly. "I don't believe that's entirely possible, Ray."

"Well, not entirely, but you could still _try_ ," Ray answered, with a little bit of a grin. "What, you think I'm gonna decide to swing into a salsa on you? It's just a box step, you can do this."

"Hm," was the doubtful reply.

It probably would have been easier if Ray had skipped the attempted date before this. He thought he should probably make an effort to be romantic, and so he'd taken them to a nice restaurant, some place you could get away with taking another guy without anyone making assumptions about what kind of partners you were, some place kind of upscale, some place Italian. It had good food, and his dates in the past had all liked it. He'd even taken Benny there once.

It had been, this time, a total disaster.

They hadn't even made it so far as the main course before Ren was flustered beyond all possible reason and Ray was _guilty_ beyond all possible reason, and who knew you could feel like you absolutely ruined a relationship based on _one dinner_? He wasn't entirely sure what it was that made Ren get jittery and fidgety like that, especially since the man clearly understood romance enough to have gone all out for Frannie, but it resulted in broken glass and it was all downhill from there.

Then there were the apologies, the self-recrimination, the sheer bullheadedness where they both tried to claim responsibility for the disaster, the awkward silence and somehow, they managed to not go and bury themselves in any shallow graves.

It had taken just over three hours and some good carry-out from some Renfield-approved restaurant to come back to anything like normal.

They'd spent most of that driving. Unwinding. Not quite running away.

Now, it was really late, and the August air was heavy and tangible and Ray was trying to teach Ren how to dance at Montrose Harbor with the radio in the Riv turned up and the windows down. Not that Ren didn't know how to dance entirely -- apparently, his sister had taught him some -- but he lacked any kind of finesse at it.

Not that it really mattered; Ray was enjoying it anyway. "You smell good."

That got a surprised look; it was dark, though the light pollution from the city and the light of the moon gave them more than enough to dance by, and Ray had no trouble reading that expression.

"Ah... thank you." Ren blinked a few times, like he had no idea how to respond. "I'm gratified that the stench of awkwardness hasn't ruined it."

"Nah," Ray answered, grinning, still leading and still trying to nudge Ren to follow just a hair more fluidly. "You don't smell awkward."

"Hm," was that again doubtful reply, but there was a little bit more humor in it this time.

It was strange, how they had to relearn every day how to even touch. Like the night made 'em forget that they could. But when they did remember, it got a little more natural each time. Mostly, it was simple stuff... holding hands. And sometimes they kissed, and that was different every single time they did it.

Ray hated conducting a relationship in private, even one he knew would make his life a whole lot more tumultuous, but he could get why Ren didn't want to go broadcasting it, given his experience. That didn't give them all that much time to try to get used to each other, though, so he was doing the best he could with stolen hours, long after they both should have been home and asleep. As many as he could get, and still not quite enough. He was still learning how to _look_ at the guy he was dating and really see him.

Ren had nice hands. Not much bigger than Ray's, and that was more across the palm than in the fingers. The one cradled in his had finally quit jittering a little, though he could still feel the tension where his hand rested at the back of Ren's shoulder. He guessed it was probably left over from dinner earlier and maybe a little for anxiety now.

"Your boyfriend never took you dancing?" he asked at length, and he wasn't surprised to feel Ren stiffen a little, then relax again as far as he was willing to.

"No," was the simple reply. "There weren't many opportunities, and we were both rather private."

"Kind of a shame," Ray answered, and he meant it. "Guess I get it, though. Last time I got to dance was with Benny, and that was all disco."

That got him an incredulous look. Which made Ray laugh, "Same time he was dressed as a woman. I was rescuing him from having to dance with a guy."

"It sounds wholly unsuccessful, in that case." Ren finally smiled, teasing and subtle and yeah, that was right about the time he started following Ray fluidly in the steps. The tinny sound of classical music from the Riv's radio became a lot more harmonic when that happened. He still wasn't moving like an expert, but he at least wasn't balking.

"Yeah, I didn't really think about that plan until it was too late," Ray said, grinning, falling comfortably into the rhythm now that he had a less-stiff partner. "He was pretty good, though. Makes me wonder who taught him disco."

"I... couldn't begin to fathom."

"Me either. I mean, I know where _I_ learned it, but I didn't figure there was some Inuit school of disco jive or whatever. Hang-glider seal collars and sequins made outta caribou horn? No way."

That got a laugh out of Ren, probably for the mental image, and Ray grinned for it. It was almost a guarantee that when you could get the real laugh out of Renfield, he would melt a little bit. Not that he was frosty, exactly, though he could be sometimes. But he was always on guard, always ready to flee behind a duty-mask that was damn near impossible to see through. It sometimes shocked Ray how many people fell for that mask like it was all there was.

Maybe 'cause the mask wasn't entirely a lie. There wasn't any kind of raging evil-universe style twin behind it. Ren was sweet and sincere whether he was guarded or not. He was quick to smile, quick to help people. But the _depth_ of everything was hidden; the difference between a polite chuckle and a real laugh; the difference between a soft frown, and a sharp, razor-edged look of intensity.

Ray was an expert on masks. They both were.

"Irene was a beautiful dancer," he said, and wished the words would vanish the moment they hit the air, unheard and forgotten. Even though he knew better. He wasn't even sure why he'd said it.

"Zuko," Ren replied, after a moment where he was clearly correlating in his mind -- he had been around then, though Ray didn't know how much he actually knew -- and there was some indefinable note in his voice.

"Yeah," Ray said, looking over Ren's shoulder to the lake. "Best partner I had ever danced with."

He felt Ren nod, more than he saw it. Silence fell again; Ray didn't know what to say and he didn't want to go into that, and so he just allowed it to settle on them, lost in the rhythm and the steps and the motion.

The music broke for some kind of rambling drone, whatever monotoned announcer they had on those kinds of stations that play classical music. Ray stopped with it, figuring to give them both a breather. But Ren didn't let go; he tightened his grip on Ray's shoulder and stepped in, freeing his other hand deftly and wrapping that arm around Ray as well.

And when Ren rested his chin over Ray's shoulder, some kind of pain, good and bad all at once, flared bright in his chest.

Sometimes, Ray almost wished that Renfield _wasn't_ sweet. That maybe he did have some evil universe twin hidden behind his duty-mask; something darker or whatever. Then, he wouldn't have to feel so damn guilty about even being here, in the presence of something -- someone -- good. It was a feeling he'd had with Benny, too. Ray didn't feel like even two bullets, an explosion and countless suits had ever paid back the debt he owed Fraser for merely existing.

"I'm not good enough for you," he finally said, and this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.

"If I believed that, Ray, I would not be here," Ren replied, as though it was some kind of fact. He always did that, too; simply refused to acknowledge that fundamental karmaic imbalance or whatever it was. Stubborn.

"Maybe I got you tricked," Ray said.

"Perhaps your vision concerning yourself is inaccurate," was the clipped reply.

Even despite himself, it made Ray smile. He didn't even know why, except it really _was_ purely stubborn. After a moment, he shook his head a little. "Anyone ever tell you that you were bullheaded?"

"Yes, Ray. Typically as some play upon my name," Ren answered, with a sigh; he moved his head, then, turning it to rest his cheek on Ray's shoulder, looking out.

"Okay. 'Cause it's true. You're bullheaded." Ray gave him a light poke in the middle of the back. "Stubborn. Hard skulled--"

"--fortunate, considering--"

"--relentless, tenacious, _ornery_ \--"

"--I am not ornery. Perhaps stiff-necked, but not ornery."

"Okay, maybe not ornery. But all the rest, that's you."

"I shall take that as a compliment, Ray."

How they could flit between emotions so quickly still boggled Ray; it was fluid and fast and sometimes disorienting. Chaotic. From teasing to fear to warmth to more fear to awkwardness, in any combination plus a thousand more. Sometimes all within the same three minute span. It was exhausting sometimes and almost exciting others.

It was a different kind of dance, and in that one, they were still learning the steps.

Speaking of dancing, the music had started again. Ray didn't really have an urge to move, though. He'd discovered a few things, even taking into account the limited time, that he _liked_ , and one of those was how it felt when Ren laid his head on Ray's shoulder. How the man felt in his arms, solid and warm. On a bunch of levels, and a lot of them emotional.

"What are you thinking?" Ren asked, quietly, distantly, sounding almost drowsy.

"You feel good, too," Ray said, trailing his fingertips down the line of Ren's spine just to punctuate it.

He didn't quite expect the shiver he got in answer to that.

There was a brief little flicker of panic -- _good shiver, bad shiver?_ \-- and then a few moments where he had to decide what to do with it if it was either kind, and he probably thought for a moment too long, 'cause Ren picked his head up.

Ray could feel the instant shot of nervousness; the look confirmed it, he could see Ren rallying up those walls of his to hide behind, almost literally, and yeah, okay, that was the good kind of shiver and he probably made the poor guy feel like a heel for not knowing how to react to it, and so Ray looked back for a moment and then leaned back in, tightening his grip, to steal a kiss.

It took a moment; a restless shift from Ren, like electricity looking for a ground, and Ray didn't back off. He didn't go pushing too hard, but he dragged his bottom lip soft across Ren's, and finally, Ren kissed him back, melting into it, shivering again.

Definitely the good kind of shiver; Ray could taste it, that want, warm and willing and nervous and Jesus, Ren really was a good kisser.

Ray drew out of the kiss after a moment, and Ren dragged in air -- _forgot how to breathe again_ \-- and he didn't wait this time, he just leaned in further, parting his lips to the straight, smooth line of Renfield's neck, a soft little open-mouthed kiss.

Ren froze, and for a jolting second Ray thought maybe he'd badly miscalculated the move. But then there was a choked breath, something disbelieving and shocked that thrilled Ray even harder, and all of it came together around the feel of skin, the line of Ren's neck, a pair of hands gripping Ray's back in an almost cling, a shudder against him.

Ren tilted his head. Barely. Damn near nonexistent, but Ray knew this man pretty well by now. He felt it. A painfully sweet, hesitant invitation. Like Ren didn't even know how or if he should encourage that.

 _Breathe, Ren,_ he thought, freeing a hand from Ren's back, reaching up to cradle the opposite side of his head, steadying them both, and then Ray was kissing again, mouth open -- skin, and sweat, really _male_ \-- and Ren's hands twitched restlessly against his back, then gripped anew. He was still breathing, though now raggedly, and Ray trailed his mouth down a little to another spot and felt another shiver and _yeah, okay, that's... yeah._

Intoxicating. Heady. Really damn _nice_.

He broke it off for a moment, speaking softly against the skin he was just teasing, "You okay, Renny?"

The "Yes, Ray," was some time coming. Ray didn't figure his breath against damp skin made the words any easier to find. "My... my apologies..."

Jesus Christ. Whoever taught this guy to take touch needed to be knocked around a little if Ren was apologizing for _that_. Probably that single boyfriend who didn't last long. They ever ended up in Nipawin, Ray thought maybe he oughta pay the guy a visit.

He debated a moment, then pulled back a little, sliding his hand around to the back of Ren's head to bring their foreheads together. "I don't know what you're apologizing for, but trust me, whatever you think you did wrong... you haven't. Got me?" he said, barely above a whisper, brushing his nose past Ren's in a nuzzle, then drawing back to watch his face.

Ren breathed, eventually flicking his eyes up to look at Ray. It was an expression like Ren was thinking; debating, maybe. Eventually it settled on something like acceptance, and Renfield whispered another "Yes, Ray," shutting his eyes again.

There was another shiver. It struck Ray as weird that he was wondering a second time around whether it was a good or bad one. Whether he was screwing something up bigtime or doing something right.

Thunder rumbled, past the city, that storm that he had felt somewhere distant making itself heard.

"Probably should head home," Ray said, after a moment, feeling kind of disappointed and kind of relieved, and mostly like he was in way the hell over his head. Maybe it was left over from the dinner date gone south. Maybe it was older. Maybe it was knowing full well that this wasn't the right kinda place to do this, or the right way.

Maybe it was everything.

"Give you a ride?" It was a joke, though it was a weak one, and even Ray winced internally for how stupid that was. _Jesus. Smooth, Vecchio._

Any double meaning seemed like it winged mercifully over Ren's head. He nodded, repeating himself a third time. Looked like "Yes, Ray," was Ren's touchstone when things went... well. Wherever this was.

He felt Ren pull away slowly, and even in the barest light Ray knew the man's face was burning red.

He rubbed his hand over his own face, before he got into the car himself.

Definitely screwed up bigtime.

 

 

The trip home passed by Renfield largely unseen; the only time it encroached upon his consciousness was when a flash of lightning or a hard crack of thunder startled him enough to note. The branches of emotion held most of his attention; scattershots of embarrassment, longing, giddy joy, and the vague but certain fear that he'd done something wrong, even if Ray would never let him believe he had. There was a sharp awareness of the man in the driver's seat, too.

It grew and wound around itself in Renfield's mind, and even as they stood awkwardly at his front door, he wasn't sure if the tangle had come out the other side.

One thing he could recognize was the look about Ray that said Ray absolutely blamed himself for the entire matter. He couldn't quite fathom why. He didn't want to allow that to go unanswered, though, even if he wasn't sure how to disarm it.

He unlocked his door, turning the knob to leave it slightly ajar. He turned back to Ray and fidgeted. Ray stood in front of him, huffing a little breath.

It was fascinating to Renfield how, even now, the goodbye at the door remained a lingering affair. As though neither of them knew how to be apart, but couldn't quite figure out how to be together.

"So, uh... Thanks for, you know..." Ray gestured, shifting a little on his feet.

Renfield finally looked up. Hanging on the decision. The spike of what he wanted to do surprised even him, but once it was there, he found he could only want to live up to it.

He stepped carefully, backing up against his own door. Opening it wide and standing there.

Invitation.

"...for that new pet elephant...?" Renfield couldn't quite believe he'd said it. Just above a whisper; a joke, though weak. It made his heart-rate pick up a little more than he was prepared for, as well, and he waited, watching Ray, not at all certain as to how this would go.

It was another of those moments where he could see the two choices, clearly being wrestled between: Go or stay, move or freeze, push or pull. Ray looked at the door, looked at him, looked away. He even went to speak once, and then closed his mouth again, and it was somehow difficult to watch the man and not feel as though even putting the choice in front of him was a form of cruelty. For the sake of both of them, this time, Renfield canned it.

Ray finally nodded, dragging a hand over the top of his head, scattering water droplets from the rain, and stepped in. "Dunno if the elephant's gonna fit in the matchbox," he said, voice a little rough. "Unless this is one of those clown matchboxes. You give me some red paint for my nose and it could be."

"I like your nose," Renfield answered, half-absently, while his mind tried to catch up to the fact that Ray actually had just taken him up on his offer, and oh, Lord, Ray... really had actually just taken him up on his offer and was standing in the apartment.

At least he managed to close the door and lock it.

If nothing else, the words got a little smile out of Ray. "Yeah, but you gotta admit, with a wig and some paint I could definitely pass as a clown."

"I will admit no such thing." Renfield was still leaning back against his door. He breathed, allowing himself the briefest grin. "One feels in such a get-up, _anyone_ could pass for a clown."

"Then you just admitted it, huh?"

Renfield sagged against the door for a moment, letting go of a quiet laugh. He eyed Ray for a moment before finally stepping away from the door. Closer to Ray. The not-quite-debate was easy to latch on to. "Perhaps I did. I still like your nose."

"I guess that's a good start, right?" Ray offered a wry little smile, then looked around again, as though he had not been here before. Perhaps it was merely the situation. Perhaps something else. It was hard to gauge which, right now.

"Quite the contrary, it's one of many things." A pause. "Do you want a drink?" Then Ray looked over and Renfield gestured, absently. "I don't-- well, I do have wine, but usually that's better suited for cooking than recreational use. But I do have juice. Or milk. Or tea."

Ray rubbed at the back of his neck, and then slid out of the suit jacket he had put back on after they were finished dancing. "Tea's good, yeah."

That, Renfield knew by rote. He turned the full force of his own blush on Ray for a lingering moment and moved off to occupy his small kitchen, remembering only once the water was heating and he'd mostly dried his hair with a dish-towel that he wasn't quite sure how Ray took tea. Coffee, yes. Tea, not quite.

He would guess. Now that he'd turned away he found he needed a few moments more simply to process the matter. Kettle warmth was a Godsend for that regardless of the heat already at his cheeks; he leaned over it, letting it curl over his face.

He'd invited Ray in. _In_ -in, not simply... in.

It wasn't a request made lightly. He knew _why_. Of course he did.

Except that he didn't. The... the application of lips to his neck didn't necessarily follow with... with... What?

Over a steeping cup of tea he honestly looked at the full implications of the open door.

Ray's mouth had been impossibly _hot_.

Admittedly, it wasn't the first time he had noted that heat, but there was quite a difference between noting it and then actually _considering_ it; it was true, he had quite a bit of self-control, and mostly he had shoved any notion of eroticism to the side for the time being, simply being content to try to build this relationship, but now... now, of course, it was something else. And he was entirely too aware of what else that was.

He could still feel the phantom of Ray's mouth on his neck, and even the ghost of it was enough to make him want to shiver.

Right. Tea. He closed his eyes for a long moment, then added a little sugar. Ray liked sweets; in fact, Renfield had taken to picking up some sort of pastry on occasion from the deli near the Consulate to have for him after work.

Ray was sitting on the bed when he brought the cup out, looking around with a still vaguely lost expression. It was something both unnerving and likewise a relief; there could be no denying that Ray had quite a bit more romantic history in his life, and Renfield wasn't sure what he expected of the man, but it had not really been for him to sit quietly, looking uncertain. It was a mild comfort that they were both lost.

He offered the tea over, and Ray took it. "Thanks," he said, with a little half-smile.

"I wasn't entirely sure how you took it; if you want more sugar, or perhaps some lemon, I believe I have some lemon juice in the refrigerator..." Renfield really did need to learn how not to _babble_ when he was nervous.

"Nah." Ray held the mug in both hands, then took a careful sip. "This is good." He looked up again, a somewhat searching, somewhat guarded look. "So, uh... you know, if I... if you..." Ray trailed off and looked away, sighing, and then said, "If I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry. I mean, I didn't really think about it like I probably should have."

Carefully, Renfield found a seat on his own bed not far away. It reminded him of the night Ray held him, right down to his own stiff difficulty knowing how to relate to it. He blinked in bafflement; there were a few false starts before he managed a reply. "You..." He gestured slowly. "You didn't do anything... anything unwanted, Ray. There's nothing to apologize for."

Ray didn't look anything like convinced, though he nodded, taking another slow sip of his tea. Then he sat looking into the mug, stroking the porcelain with his thumb. "If I ever do, just give me a shove or tell me to knock it off or something. It still stands, you know? I don't expect anything outta you, so you don't gotta think that just because I start getting a little heavy that you gotta let me."

"If I didn't want something, I would tell you." It rather boggled Renfield's mind that Ray would think otherwise. The man's capacity to second-guess himself was even worse than Renfield's own, and that... that was certainly saying something.

"Okay, good." Ray still didn't look entirely convinced of anything, though again, he nodded.

"You don't believe me," Renfield said, just looking at Ray, trying to _see_ , to figure out what Ray was thinking.

Ray shot a look over, startled, then shook his head. "I do. It ain't that."

"What is it, then?"

Ray looked back at his mug again, as though that contained some answer. Renfield understood that compulsion; he did the same thing. In fact, he had done so just minutes before. The tea hadn't held any answers for him; he supposed Ray wasn't likely to find any himself, either.

"I don't know," Ray finally said, taking another sip, then going back to holding his mug in both hands, his forearms rested on his knees. "It's not you, though. So don't go thinking that."

Renfield's hands were clasped in his lap, though he was determined to leave his thumb untugged. The brief consideration that Ray was lying was rejected; no other possibility Renfield could grasp seemed the kind or good thing to say. "If you... believe there is some way you could coerce me... that there is some way you could trick me so that I'm unable to know whether I want something or not..." He shook his head, squinting off at his own floor. "You can't."

"Managed to trick people for a long time into thinking I was someone I wasn't." It was said matter-of-factly, though there was a note underneath of it that sounded tired.

"Undercover?"

"Yeah." Ray took a sip of tea, then shook his head. "It's not you I don't trust. I don't really trust myself."

"I do." Renfield tilted his head and eyed Ray, a trickle of uncertainty entirely unwelcome, though it didn't invalidate what he'd said. "You haven't tricked me. I don't believe you will. If I thought anything else... I wouldn't have asked you inside."

Ray closed his eyes for a long moment, dropping his head and taking a deep breath, then let it out. It trembled slightly. And then he reached over, offering the mug back with a solemn little smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe it ain't you I tricked. Maybe it's me. Don't you think you could do better than some broke-down, middle-aged guy who has some real problems?"

"I'm certain of it, which is why I'm with you," Renfield answered, raising an eyebrow. He didn't take the mug back, absolutely positive that once he did, Ray would be on his feet and headed for the door.

There was a long moment where Ray blinked, something warm and unbidden crossing his face for an instant, before being drowned out again. "You know what I mean."

"I do, which is exactly why I said it." If Ray thought he would simply agree with such an unkind, unbalanced assessment of him, he had another thing coming. Determined to chase that warmth, to dredge it back out, Renfield continued, "There are a number of things you deserve better than what I am. I imagine if I listed them from my perspective I would receive no less a refusal than I've just given you."

Ray was still staring; Renfield hoped the pause was only to allow those words to catch up. After a moment, Ray breathed a soft laugh, looking off. "...that's 'cause whatever you think you could list is wrong, pal."

Renfield raised an eyebrow again, allowing himself a hint of a lopsided grin. His best approximation of smug.

Ray finally pulled his mug back to himself, taking another sip, then fell quiet for a long several moments, clearly thinking. There were any number of little hints -- something uneasy, something longing, something scared, something determined -- that crossed his face, before he breathed out another unsteady breath. "So, uh... I'm here."

"You are, yes, Ray."

Ray nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck again, then dragging his hand up over his scalp. "Sorry I got all... I dunno." He gestured with that hand. "So, what do you wanna do?"

"Whatever you think you did wrong, you haven't." It was unbidden, and Renfield knew he lifted the line, repeating it without mimicry. He no longer had any idea how to answer that question. If he ever did. He looked off to the floor again, and when he managed an answer, it was stolen from Ray, too. "How do you feel about being held?"

Ray looked over, a sort of wary confusion on his face. "I dunno." He glanced around again, then looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand, wincing faintly when he read the numbers, before he gestured again. "It's pretty late."

"I had thought..." It took a little nerve, but Renfield steeled his resolve, "I had thought, when I invited you in, it would be for the night."

A flicker of a smile crossed Ray's face as he eyed the bed. "You think two of us can fit on this thing comfortably?"

"I think it's worth trying, if nothing else."

"You gonna expect me up at dawn?" Ray asked, eyebrows up.

Renfield thought for a moment, gratefully sinking his mind into the logistics of them both making it to work on time; obviously, he could get a ride off of Ray, which meant a later wake-up time. "No. If you wouldn't mind giving me a ride to work, that is."

"I don't mind." Ray's face finally relaxed into a more genuine grin, and he shook his head. "Dunno how I'm gonna get away with wearing the same set of clothes to work tomorrow, but I'll burn that bridge when I get there."

"If they ask, perhaps you could tell them you had a very successful date." Renfield flashed a grin of his own, drawing up his leg to start unlacing his boots.

Ray laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah. Got a good-lookin' guy I was necking with and decided to dive headfirst into some pointless pathos. That's dressed for a very successful date, all right."

Renfield hardly thought it had been pointless or pathos -- it was not as though he didn't realize going into this relationship that Ray was going to struggle with demons, and need reassurance -- but he didn't get a chance to really say that before he was busy flushing and boggling over the 'good-lookin' part of that. He... had not particularly expected Ray to ever say such a thing. He blinked a few times, then went back to unlacing his boots. "Thank you."

"For? The pointless pathos?" Ray pulled his own foot up and started unlacing his black dress shoes.

"Ah... hm. The, uh... good-looking part."

Ray flicked a glance over, eyebrows up; amusement, warmth. Still shadowed, but less so than before. "What, just 'cause I was straight doesn't mean I'm blind."

Renfield concentrated on his laces after that, chewing down a smile. "No. I don't suppose it does." He set one boot aside with a little thump, unlacing the other. " _Myopic_ , perhaps, but not necessarily blind..."

"Nah, don't give me that." Renfield could feel Ray gesturing, knowing the motion well even in peripheral vision. "You've got this hunky-handsome-Mountie thing going on. It's the kinda thing you can see from _space_. Okay, so maybe it took a while for Frannie to catch on, but that's because her head was buried in somebody else's sand, not 'cause she couldn't see a handsome fella miles off. Don't sit there looking like _that_ and tell me there's something wrong with my eyes, pal."

The boot slid to the floor. Renfield had precisely no idea how to answer that; he had mostly expected Ray to look _past_ the physical, not _at_ it. "...your eyes are beautiful," he finally said, a truth that he could cling to.

"Yeah, thanks, that's sweet, but for a dodge, I'm thinking that's about a 3." Ray was shaking his head with an amused little smile.

Renfield's second boot was set aside, and Ray was apparently done gesturing for the moment, working through the buttons of his dress shirt. Which was... distracting. Not even necessarily erotic, but certainly distracting. The man had beautiful hands, as well.

"Hello? Earth to Renfield?" Ray took one of his hands away from his mostly unbuttoned shirt, waving it around. He was smiling, though; still warmth and affection, still the dance of shadows at the edges. "You okay?"

"Yes, Ray." It was the standard reply, but at that particular moment, Renfield was having some measure of difficulty keeping his thoughts in any semblance of order. Considering the hour -- and the evening prior -- that shouldn't have come as any sort of surprise. Even so, he made an effort to rally himself back to coherence. "Tired, perhaps, but yes."

"Okay, good. I was kinda worried that the fact that you're a good-lookin' guy might have short-circuited you or something." Ray smirked, that teasing, smug expression and finished unbuttoning his shirt, smoothly rolling it off of his shoulders.

He was still wearing an undershirt, and the patterns of tan-lines and scars were... Renfield wasn't sure what they were. Distinctive. Painful. Artistic.

Ah. Distraction again. "Hm? No, Ray."

Ray was looking somewhat confused, as though he'd missed some beat in their conversation. Which was quite all right; apparently, Renfield had missed it as well. He only really noted that he was tracing a white scar that curled over Ray's collarbone when he felt Ray's breath across the backs of his fingers, from where he'd tried to turn his head to watch.

"Explosion in Chinatown," Ray said, matter-of-factly. "Following the wrong lead into a trap."

Renfield thought for a moment about taking his hand back, and then decided... no. It was not taking a liberty; it certainly wasn't taking more of one than kissing Ray ever was. He just nodded, feeling the raised edge and trying to grasp how he felt about it. "Does it hurt?"

It was only then that Ray twitched, uncomfortably. "Uh... not really. Not that one, so much, 'cept when it's cold."

He often did that, Renfield had discovered; whatever the wound, Ray would only get uncomfortable whenever the subject of pain was brought into it. As though the scars should only be marks, and any hurt attached to them shouldn't be acknowledged. It made him wonder if Ray had always been that way, or if it was something he had only learned more recently.

It was on an impulse that he leaned over to kiss the mark, pulling his hand out of the way, and by the time he'd quite realized he'd done that, Ray's breath had hitched quietly and that was... that was...

 _That._

He didn't want to take that back, either.

Renfield hovered lips over the skin, eyes down. It wasn't that he couldn't look. It was that he wasn't certain of what he would do if he could see the expression that went with that soft sound. What it would do to _him_ , if he did.

There was a second trace of the scar, though it was more for the shape underneath it. The curve and dip of collarbone. The barest exploration; Renfield knew very well he hadn't the first idea what he was doing.

Except that he did; it bypassed reason and came from somewhere else.

He drew back to a hover on that second brush. He didn't imagine his breath across that skin was very helpful, but there was some hard and almost painful emotion coursing through him that had him rather frozen where he was. He could _feel_ the warmth radiating off of Ray; even not in contact with him, it felt like being touched.

He looked up.

\--yes. Frozen. The answer to what he might do upon taking in the expression that matched Ray's breathing; Ray's eyes were closed, and he was breathing deep and slow, but it didn't mask the faint tremble on the exhale; his mouth was slightly open and he looked so very _vulnerable_. A chaotic mix of emotions -- anxiety, shock, heat... want.

It was strange how something could feel quite so intensely desirable and quite that nerve-wracking, all at once. What it felt like, being able to affect the man like that. What it felt like, just knowing that he _could_.

Minutes, hours, years, a lifetime just breathing. Renfield wondered what Ray was thinking, he wondered what _he_ was thinking; he wondered about the hour, how hard it was going to be to stay awake tomorrow at work, how they ended up here, all chaos and confusion and desire and anxiety, a dance neither knew the steps to; he thought about the scars and tan lines and he thought about choices; he thought about how it felt when he kissed Ray that first time, determination and the desire to show him what he could never seem to find right in words.

He wondered if he could make Ray shiver.

And then he thought nothing at all.

Ray's mouth was still impossibly hot, and sweet now from the tea; he tasted of that and himself, and mixed into it were other things -- the musty scent of summer rain, a mellow aftershave, an edge of sweat from the August sun or left over from dancing. He had frozen still for a moment, breath arrested, and again Renfield could feel the push and the pull, and he _pushed it_ , kissing deeper, and then Ray was gripping at the back of his t-shirt, kissing back, more fiercely than he usually did, breathing again, hard and rapid, fight or flight or _stay_.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Renfield admitted at a whisper, when it was broken, and they were breathing lip to lip again, and he didn't think he could pull back further if his life depended upon it. He didn't know what he was doing, but the idea of pulling away, stepping away, was even more impossible.

He felt the huffed breath of a laugh back from multiple points; his mouth, the hand on the back of Ray's neck, the fingers gripping his t-shirt. "Makes two of us," Ray answered, just as quietly, and his voice was as chaotic as he was, but under all of it was something good.

There was no possible retort to that but to kiss again, but this time it was somewhat softer, more deliberate, more certain, less desperate, and this time, Ray kissed back right away, and this time...

Ray shivered.

Ray _shivered_ , and something _snapped_ , aching and loving, and then Renfield couldn't quite get his hands off of the man, couldn't make himself give back the distance; he tightened his grip on the back of Ray's neck, and got the other arm around to his back, shuddering himself when his bare forearm brushed past skin and the cotton undershirt. Distantly, he heard that mug hit the floor, and he jumped a little, but then he felt Ray's hand slide under his t-shirt at his lower back and his thoughts scattered in five thousand directions; Lord, Ray's hand was near as warm as his mouth, and Renfield twisted under it without thought, shocked and overwhelmed and he forgot to _breathe_ again, had to drag himself from the heat of Ray's mouth just to pant against his neck.

He didn't know when they went from upright to horizontal, awkwardly spilled on the bed, and it wasn't until Ray squirmed faintly, uncomfortably, that anything like coherence returned; another scattershot of anxiety -- _too far?_ \-- and Renfield went to move, even if the thought almost _hurt_ , but then Ray got a grip on his hair, not yanking but holding firm, and said, "No. Stay," and his voice was rough and vaguely imploring, desperate, scared, hopeful.

There was no denying this man anything. Renfield had long since come to that conclusion, and after another moment, he relaxed, panted, tried to drag his head together against the feel of Ray half-pinned under him even while his own arm was pinned under Ray, and Ray was breathing hard and radiating heat and even that was almost too much -- every detail, every nuance, every scent, _everything_.

"It's okay," Ray said, softer and more calm amidst the chaos; Renfield could feel him tip his head back and couldn't stop himself from kissing Ray's throat, where his pulse beat hard under the skin, and couldn't stop himself from shivering as he did it. He could feel Ray's voice as much as hear it when Ray repeated, "It's okay."

God, but it was hard to hold still; he wanted so badly to move -- _let me show you, please_ \-- but Ray's fist in his hair held him still, sending singing pleasure from his scalp, down his spine, and then there was the hand at his back, and he twitched under it. But finally, what felt an eternity later, Ray eased up on that grip and slid his fingers slow behind Renfield's ear, and that sent goosebumps right across his neck and shoulders.

Ray shifted and without even thinking, Renfield tightened his grip, managing to choke out his own, "No. Stay."

Ray's hands both stilled, and then there was the answer, vibrating through his throat, soft and warm. "I'm not goin' anywhere, Ren," he said, and it became something like gentle amusement in his voice as he added, "Just figured, you know, that maybe we oughta be on the bed properly."

It took a very long moment for the words to make any _sense_ ; Renfield heard them, but they were just noise until they clicked, and then he realized that he was being teased, and something in him released and he relaxed again, not even aware of how tense he had gotten in the space of heartbeats. He was still entirely too aware of the sensory overload, but after one more kiss to Ray's throat, he managed to pull away. His face was hot. He thought... he didn't know... was he blushing?

Ray sat up and moved back, using his hands as leverage, and there was still chaos in his eyes, too; scrutiny and anxiety, but something soft, too, something that was enough to make Renfield's chest _ache_ , and he fell to concentrating on his own breathing. Then Ray grinned a little. "Be kinda bad if we fell off onto the floor, y'know?"

Renfield looked at the floor, but he didn't really see it, then looked back at Ray and surprised himself by grinning back. "Ah... yes, it would."

"Yeah." Ray chuckled quietly, then dropped his head and, in fluid motion, he pulled off his undershirt and tossed it to land somewhere by the window. Deceptively casual. He could not entirely mask his own uncertainty.

Somehow -- only the Lord knew how -- Renfield managed to keep from falling lost again, keeping his eyes up, despite every single urge to just _look_ , take in everything, memorize Ray Vecchio as he would case files and court rulings and the bus routes of Chicago. "I still don't know what I'm doing," he said, just as a warning, because... because he _didn't_ , he had precisely one lover in his life, and that had barely progressed anywhere before it was over.

"Coulda fooled me," Ray said, and there was _nothing_ teasing in that tone; it was warm, but genuine, something smoldering and... and...

Renfield finally moved, stripping his own shirt over his head and letting it fall far more carelessly than normal, moving up to lay on his side beside Ray, hesitating anew, waiting...

"It's okay. We're okay," Ray said, and he stretched out, reaching over to comb a hand through Renfield's still-damp hair, a gesture that had become familiar now, something affectionate. "Right?"

"Yes, Ray," Renfield said, and he needed no more permission than that, leaning in for another kiss and being met halfway, even as he gave into the urge to map, to _touch_ , laying an arm over Ray's side to stroke over his back, to feel his skin and the muscle under it, and the marks left on it. God, but that was amazing; it seemed as though _everything_ Ray was warmth.

And then Ray got a grip on a belt loop of his jeans and dragged their hips together.

That...

That...

 _That._

Renfield didn't know he was quite capable of making that sound, and it wasn't as though he didn't... didn't know he was quite... quite _worked up_ , but it had been so very easy to lose himself in Ray and then... and Ray was in the _same state_ and that...

He vaguely realized he was arched into it, vaguely realized that he'd probably surprised Ray breaking that kiss quite so quickly, and he only realized how hard he was gripping Ray's back when he felt Ray shift, which just dragged another low sound out of him, and somehow, some way, he managed to _breathe_ , open his eyes, and Ray looked quite as shocked as he was himself; something heated, surprised, and they froze again, just panting.

"Really are new, huh?" Ray asked, voice low and awed, as though that were something he hadn't known, but perhaps he had known and not understood.

Renfield wanted to flush -- _why yes, Ray, I suppose I am a technical virgin, though I have at least gone further than this_ \-- but he couldn't force any such words out, and he desperately wanted to squirm right now, but that most certainly would not be a good idea and... "Not... not... entirely, but..."

"Look at you," Ray said, softly, and it was... strange, to _be_ looked at like that, wonder and heat, as though Ray were seeing him all over again.

"I would... would much rather look at _you_ ," Renfield managed to answer, and that was definitely true. Ray, flushed and _in his bed_ , which boggled him a little now that he had a few moments to think about it, and Lord, if he didn't put some distance between them, this would end far too soon.

Renfield pulled back, and Ray let go of his belt loop, and a moment was spent where they both simply stared at one another. It should have felt more awkward than it did. This was hardly the flowery, perfectly choreographed love-making that was so often depicted by popular culture.

"Maybe you're the one who's myopic," Ray teased, after a few more heartbeats passed, even as he truly was looking, and Renfield had often thought that Ray could turn his gaze into a physical force, but it had never been a caress like that before. Now that there was a sanity-saving distance between them, Renfield did give into the urge to squirm. Were it not for shyness, his jeans would be on the floor, where they'd be far more comfortable.

"I have quite excellent vision, as you well know," Renfield finally answered, in a huff. He _itched_ to touch again, but for now, he breathed, tried to reassert his own self-control, tried to back away from being far too aroused for his own good. The banter offered a brief respite, anyway.

Ray looked down his own body, then looked back up again, eyebrows up in some sort of playful disbelief. "Uh huh."

The man was impossible. Even if this particular self-deprecation seemed to be of the more joking variety. Taking it as a challenge, Renfield reached a mildly shaky hand out, just to touch, looking himself; Ray's chest, dark hair there, wiry or soft to the touch depending upon the direction, and Renfield was given the flash of an urge to just bury his nose in it and breathe. Two different bullet wounds, one entry and one exit on the left side, one in his shoulder and the newest one terribly, achingly close to his heart, over ribs still stained with the mildest of discoloration that was left from weeks before. Other scars, as well; some short, some longer, some ragged. All on the left side.

How Renfield could feel so wanting and hurt for those marks at the same time...

"They don't hurt much," Ray said, unable to completely hide the shadows at the corners of his eyes. "Pretty much healed now, y'know?"

 _I don't believe that, even if you do._ Renfield didn't say it, and it was then that he even realized that his fingertips were finding each one, the lightest touch. "I would wear them myself, if I could," was what he did say.

Something broke in Ray's eyes, something beautiful and painful and fierce and loving, all at once. "I'd never let you."

There could be no more words about it; Renfield let action speak, moving, leaning over, nudging Ray to his back, kissing the scars, any lingering uncertainty left just for the want to _show_ Ray how much he meant that, even as he knew how much Ray meant what he had said in turn. The hair on Ray's chest tickled his nose, something that made him grin, even as he kept brushing his lips over old scars as though he could smooth each one away, and then Ray was combing through his hair again, and something that usually was calming or soothing felt unbelievably _erotic_ right now.

At least he knew to keep his hips well away from Ray this time, even if his jeans were still something of a problem. He huffed a breath to Ray's chest, felt Ray shiver, answered it with one of his own just for _knowing_ that was for him.

"You tryin' to kill me here, Ren?" Ray asked, and his voice was husky, teasing, sweet.

"No, Ray," Renfield answered, nearly losing his mind at the _sound_ of that. He brushed his nose past the mostly faded bruises across Ray's ribs; bone, muscle, skin, scent. He still had no idea what he was doing, but he knew he wanted to keep doing it.

Ray hissed in a breath when Renfield found his waist, nuzzling and then kissing it, soft, gentle, open lips across the smooth skin there, an unmarked, unscarred place. "You sure about that?" Ray asked, shifting a little, flicking the backs of his fingernails against the back of Renfield's neck and how, exactly, could _that_ nearly make him want to moan?

"Mm," was the only answer Renfield could give at the moment, and on an impulse, he actually pressed his tongue against the skin there, tasting and dear Lord, his head was spinning now, chaos descending, even as he made a few mad grabs for _sanity_.

It wasn't quite working. It couldn't work, with the noise Ray made, something off-guard and certainly good; the way he moved, shifting, startled, and if Renfield had known how to mark the man, he would have, right there, just something small and temporary against all of the permanent marks, something done out of love, not suffering; his own brief flare of possessiveness shocked even him.

Ray said something, but Renfield was so lost just to the sound of his voice that the words themselves made no sense; the cadence was lovely, informal, teasing, strained, oh Lord, and how had he ended up nuzzling against Ray's breastbone, chest hair tickling his nose and chin without quite noticing?

Ray gave a gentle tug on his hair, and his own moan surprised him. Still, it allowed the word to get through. "Clothes," was all Ray said, and it was taut; not a command, not a plea, but something more like a request, without the questioning.

Clothes. Clothes. Oh. The jeans. Ray's trousers. They... and they would...

"Ren?"

It took a moment. "Yes, Ray?"

"You okay?"

Renfield breathed; felt the hair on Ray's chest stir, and shoved down the impulse to lick over it. Which was fairly easy to do, since he found himself giggling, perhaps a little more manic than he intended. _No, Ray, I'm not quite all right... of course not, it's only that you're in my bed, and you taste so wonderful..._ "Yes, Ray," he managed to say, and then pushed up off of his forearms, leaning over, canting his head and giving over to the surreal impulse just to rest his teeth against the bridge of Ray's nose on either side, no pressure, just... _want_. He felt out of his mind. He _was_ out of his mind.

Ray giggled.

 _Ray_ giggled.

The sound just about murdered Renfield, who had to draw away to laugh, and that giggle of Ray's was such a beautiful sound, surprised and amused. "I love your nose," Renfield said, and he stuffed his face into his pillow, aware of how precariously they were on the bed, unable to help it and unwilling to stop it.

Ray was laughing too, and when Renfield pulled his head up, the force of the look he was getting pinned him in place. It glowed, bright and hot and colored green, intense almost to the point of breaking; love and affection, and oh, it almost _hurt_ , it was so powerful. He felt, all at once, desperately vulnerable and cherished and wanted and exposed and even a little frightened, because... that was _his Ray_ , looking so happy, and all the more incredible for it.

"Look at you," Ray repeated, quiet and still so warm it ached, and he reached over, trailed his fingertips over Renfield's side, five points of fire.

"I am yours... yours to look at," Renfield answered, a little choked up, head still spinning on the rapid shifts of emotion. He twisted a little under the burning touch, throwing off the elegant track.

Ray broke into a smile, more delight and awe. "Yeah," he said, as though he couldn't quite believe it. "How'd you do this to me, anyway?"

Renfield had to close his eyes if he wanted to keep speaking under the look he could feel; Ray's hand was on his hip, over denim, and he could feel even _that_ , fabric warming to skin. "I believe I kissed you."

"I think it started before that."

"Perhaps." Renfield wanted to feel more abashed for the fact that he was panting simply for a warm hand settled on his still-clad hip, but he couldn't quite dredge it up at the moment. It was unforgivably sappy, but he added, "Years. Lifetimes. Perhaps."

"Perhaps," Ray echoed softly, and then that hand moved again, more trailing fire over Renfield's stomach.

He dragged in a breath, holding it unconsciously, just to _feel_ it -- everything felt wired to Ray, unfiltered; emotionally, physically, everything, as though there was nothing beyond this, not before, nor after.

"Breathe," Ray said.

 _I don't want to._ But finally, Renfield did, a shocked breath out when Ray... and he... and then he... and then the button of his jeans was undone, and mercifully took some measure of pressure off, and then...

He felt Ray move, felt him get up, heard him undoing the buckle of his belt, heard him taking off his trousers and oh, God, he wanted to look, but it felt impossible, he couldn't... and Ray was going to be _naked_ \-- oh, dear, that's a ridiculously juvenile thought, as though he were sixteen and not twenty-six -- and Ray was going to... expect... and...

...he could not understand Ray's self-deprecation. He was very much art; distinctive, lean, wiry. Tan lines, scars. Darker skinned, large green eyes, and that _mouth_. Nothing so cliché as a billboard model -- everything was so uniquely _Ray_ , flawed and imperfect and somehow perfect for those flaws. He stood tall, shoulders not hunched as they so often were, some measure defiance against what was clearly some self-consciousness, and briefly the erotic gave to the artistic, and Renfield just looked, taking it all in, wonder over Ray's form. His to look at. He had a flash of a whim for some charcoal, some pale yellow paper, some sunlight.

"Hey, you okay?" Ray asked, and the tone was a little concerned, a little worried.

 _...what?_ Renfield didn't entirely realize he hadn't asked that aloud, until Ray gestured, eyebrows drawn, adding, "You're shakin' like a leaf."

Oh. He was. Renfield had no idea why. It was as much a surprise to him as to Ray; he hadn't even been aware of it. Maybe anxiety that couldn't fit into his thoughts, and therefore, had to manifest somewhere. He was being rather unbearably shy; he couldn't do more than glance fleetingly below Ray's waist, for instance. Lord. Technical virgin indeed. "Yes, Ray."

"You sure?" Ray's eyes narrowed a little, searching again.

"Yes, I'm sure." Which was true; he certainly didn't _feel_ bad. Quite the contrary.

Ray still didn't look entirely convinced, but he tugged on the quilt from the foot of the bed. "Here, climb under that," he said, then moved around to the side of the bed he had been on to climb under it himself.

Renfield did, though he wasn't cold, and when Ray gave his arm a tug, it only took him a few moments to realize what he was supposed to do; he quite gratefully moved into that offered hold, shuddering briefly harder, hard enough to make his teeth chatter, before it subsided to something more low level.

He truly wasn't cold or upset; he couldn't understand, therefore, why the warmth of Ray's body against his felt that calming, particularly given that moments before, it was anything but.

"Better?" Ray asked, and took up a broad, flat-handed stroke down between Renfield's shoulder blades and over his back. Nothing hard, just soothing. And it _was_ surprisingly soothing; little by little, that unaccountable shaking faded to a more intermittent tremble.

"Yes," Renfield said, barely above a whisper, feeling half-abashed, half-grateful; he didn't even know what he had needed, how had Ray? He felt rather silly for it. Perhaps a measure defiant, though not against Ray, just against whatever it was that had him trembling like some sort of teenager.

Still, it did feel good. Still heat, but something lower-level, more calm, less frantic. His hand found Ray's back, mostly free of marks, a measured stroke over primarily smooth skin. Mapping the shape; an elegant sort of curve, dipped to lower back, up again to the sharper edges of his shoulder blades.

"Anyone ever tell you that you got some great skin?" Ray asked, and his voice had taken on a mellow, good-natured tone.

"Ah... no. Not... not that I can remember." Renfield had his eyes closed, but the tone made him smile.

"You do. Real smooth." Ray's fingers hooked through another belt loop, and he gave it a gentle tug. "Think you got me at a disadvantage, though."

Renfield huffed a shocked laugh, even as that little tug made him shiver in a decidedly more pleasant way. "I most emphatically disagree."

"Hey, you're the one still wearin' clothes," Ray replied, and the grin was audible.

Renfield supposed he should probably do something about that. Anxiety did get a look into his thoughts then -- _there is no taking this back_ \-- but he pulled away, riding determination, even still under his quilt, laying on his back to skin out of his jeans and boxers and reminding himself of just how worked up he actually was. It left him gasping for a moment at the ceiling, but even for the sheer physical ache of arousal, he could feel the _weight_ of this. There truly was no taking this back; it was bare, base, vulnerable and terrifying, and he didn't realize how long he was frozen until he felt Ray's hand settle over his chest, just the softest pet, startling him briefly.

"Hey," Ray said, and the tone floated it was so quiet. "I love you. You know that?"

The air caught in his throat, and Renfield held that breath for a bare moment before breathing it out, a flash of a sting in his eyes. It was easy, for a moment, to want to forget that; he had heard it before.

But no one had ever _looked_ at him like Ray did before. There was no pressure in the words. They were spoken as fact, backed by action, given without any expectation of a return.

Jeans still partway down, he lifted a hand to cover the one at his chest. The 'yes, Ray' and 'I love you too' was implicit in the brush of his thumb. After the passage of a few breaths, there was an 'I'm all right' in the squeeze he gave it, too.

He wondered what it was he could say without speaking once those jeans were off.

They were peeled away on the thought of finding out, set beside the bed with care. He settled beside Ray, and before his thoughts could wing away again, he found the same hand to lace his fingers through.

"You know I don't really know what I'm doin' here, either," Ray said, stroking his thumb against Renfield's. He was smiling when he said it, though, an expression that didn't entirely hide his nervousness, though he was clearly trying to. "I mean, sure, did this dance plenty of times when I was playing for the other team..."

There was something not-quite-right about that metaphor, but Renfield couldn't really care; he understood what Ray was saying, anyway. For his own part, he was caught between his own shyness and inexperience, and the almost unbearable desire to climb all over Ray, and that was a strange position to be in. "I suppose... that is, given that you're _male_..."

It was almost comical the way Ray blinked, as though that thought hadn't even occurred to him. "Huh."

"...you're not... that is... Well, we're not..." Renfield sighed out, then just shook his head and gave up. English was quite out of his reach at the moment.

"Didn't even think of that," Ray said. His eyebrows were up, and he was clearly considering it. "I mean, that I kinda do know what I'm doing, even though I don't know what I'm _doing_."

It was Renfield's turn to stare at Ray. Suddenly, that gaffe of his on the hood of the Riviera came back to him, and before he knew it, he was laughing again, hard. Oh, Lord. Oh, he had not particularly expected that to...

"What?" Ray asked.

It took a moment, and he was still laughing when he answered, "Apparently, you were correct: There is no teaching the _doing_ part."

"...oh, God." Ray's face cycled through a series of expressions, and then he stared _wait, really?_ at Renfield, and then he was laughing too, all over again, as they had when they were sitting on the car.

It seemed somehow apt that it was only then that they fell into step, to the sound of shared laughter; Ray slotting their bodies together and Renfield forgetting shyness, awkwardness and anxiety for the _heat_ , the aching pleasure of it, that mouth on his neck again and the feeling of Ray's breath tickling over his skin.

Ray set the rhythm and Renfield set his nails and held on for his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Ray woke up hot and cold and a little itchy and badly in need of a shower, and there was a Mountie wrapped around him.

 _One of these things is not like the others..._ he thought, half-conscious at best, before he could even force himself to pry his eyes open. They were glued together. There was a chill on the skin of his back, and he was sweating on his front, and...

Ray shifted, casting out a hand to try to find some kind of blanket, and fumbled around for a few moments before giving up.

Okay. So, he was hot and cold and itchy and really needing a shower, and when he shifted, he could feel the scratches Ren left in his back, stinging lightly in the cool air. Wasn't the first time Ray had nails in his back, admittedly, but it was the first time anyone had ever clawed him like _that_.

Ray squeezed his eyes closed tighter, then finally forced them open.

Jesus. It was still dark outside. He couldn't have been asleep more'n a couple hours, if that.

He shifted again under the dead weight of Ren's arm and leg. Ren didn't even stir; he was just snoring away, quietly, looking like a sleeping scandal with his hair pointing in every direction from sex and sweat, and a mark Ray left on his neck, red against pale skin, lit by the moon. A cute scandal, admittedly.

Must have been beat to sleep that deeply. Especially since the skin on his back was cool and he was sweating where he was pressed against Ray, and probably itchy and definitely needing a shower; unlike Ray, though, Renfield remained utterly oblivious of all of these things.

Ray managed to detangle himself, though he almost landed his ass on the floor. He was amazed they hadn't fallen off that bed; hell, he was amazed that Renfield could even _sleep_ on that bed. It was too short for both of 'em, and once Ray was on his feet, Ren took up most of it without even having to move on his own power, having settled into the space Ray left. All long limbs and a quilt tangled around his knees, his chest practically to the bed.

God, Ren really was a good-looking guy. Lots of smooth lines that curved with the shift in position, kinda... fluid looking, graceful looking. Lean without being skinny or wiry, toned without being one of those body-builder types. Power without the bulk. Nice colors that shifted with the environment. Mostly unblemished, too.

Ray tilted his head and eyed the long, straight white scar that slashed across Ren's hip, the only mark he could see without turning on any lights and getting up close and personal. Wondered where it came from. Something sharp enough to cut clean.

Ray thought Ren would probably get all kinds of shy, if he knew he was being looked at.

It was a little strange to have made love to the guy before seeing him properly naked.

Then again, it was pretty strange to have made love to a guy at all. Apparently, Ray Vecchio _could_ get off with a guy. Not that he hadn't known he could get turned on by _this_ guy, but admittedly, he had a few moments of straight-man panic and wasn't so sure he could carry it through. Turned out that he could. Turned out that even with all the awkward, all the uncertainty, all the missteps and pauses and restless shifting from one tenor to the next, it was pretty amazing when they finally figured it out...

Kinda like making love to a living thunderstorm; restless winds and lightning strikes and a lot of power untamed.

 _Oh, God, I really am in love with him,_ Ray thought, and it was funny that he'd had that thought several times since they started this thing they had, and it _still_ surprised him.

Ren had tried a few times to explain that sexuality was more fluid than people liked to think, and that Ray hadn't jumped to the other side of the spectrum just for him, but it still came as something of a shock to Ray that yeah, there really was enough gay in him to find the sight of his... boyfriend? partner? _Ren_ looking like a scandal attractive at this hour of the morning. Not that Ray couldn't distinguish between good-looking men and not-good-looking men before, but now there was that other thing in there, too.

The realization that he was standing there naked, on top of hot, cold, itchy and needing a shower just so he could get a real _look_ at the man he'd been dating for weeks made Ray chuckle to himself, quietly.

Wow.

He shook his head to himself, sleepily, and then went to go get a rag. Wipe himself down at least. Maybe see if he could get away with wiping Ren down, though he doubted even this post-coital coma would hold if he did that. Maybe look around and see if he could find a light sheet to sleep under, instead of the quilt; not too hot, but something to block out the clammy pre-dawn air from the open window.

Sure enough, him sitting on the edge of the bed woke Ren, though all that gave him away was that he quit snoring. Ray wondered, sometimes, how he could do that; lay so perfectly still and quiet, like he was listening and waiting for something. If he even knew _what_ he was waiting for.

"Hey," Ray said quietly, and then Ren did move, splaying his hand out wide once before turning his head to look at Ray, barely awake. Dazed. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."

There was no immediate answer, just that look of very drowsy confusion, and then Ren's expression went through a few different things, some of which Ray could recognize even in the dark; uncertainty and hope and then a shift into something almost panicked. "Ray..."

Uh oh. Ray blinked, his own heart rate picking up a little in response to that. "What's wrong?"

Yet again, Renfield didn't seem to have any kind of response; he twisted to look at the clock, then back at Ray, then apparently he remembered that he was still naked and dragged the quilt up, and Ray didn't know _what_ he was thinking. Except that it wasn't very good.

"Hey, talk to me," Ray said, leaning over and wondering exactly what he had to do wrong to get that kinda look, something that shifted wild between defiance and anxiety, determination and fear. "C'mon, Ren, at least tell me what you're thinkin' here."

"Stay." One word, and it was equal parts plea and order, and the defiance flared up near hot enough to light the room.

Oh. Ray breathed out, and yeah, if he ever went on tour de Saskatchewan, someone was gonna get put up against a wall and snarled at. He swayed a little bit, then, before giving Ren a nudge in the side. "I wasn't going anywhere, just wanted to clean up a little," he said, holding up the rag in his other hand. "Move over, lemme back in this glorified bedroll you call a bed."

The defiance ebbed away, and then Ren blinked in a way that was... okay, yeah. Adorable. Maybe kinda sheepish. He moved over, giving Ray as much room as he could without falling off of the bed, holding the quilt up. Ray crawled back under it, switching the rag to the other hand, and since he was wrapped around again in one of those brooks-no-argument style holds, he just used it to wash Ren's head and neck off on feel alone, soothing as he could.

"I love you," Ren said, muffled by the pillow, finally tensing once and relaxing back to something more sleepy.

"Love you, too," Ray answered, smiling a little in the dark.

His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was about what the sky looked like after the clouds broke.

 

 

"I'm-- yes, Inspector, I realize-- No, ma'am. I had neglec--"

Ray was alone in the bed and his eyelids were glued together again, but he managed to fight them open at the sound of Renfield apparently trying to talk down the Dragon Lady.

When Ray finally did get his eyes open, he could see why.

It was bright out. Eyeball searing kinda bright. Really late for work kinda bright. Which wasn't as big a deal for Ray, since he could just work over and make up for it, but it was definitely a big deal for Ren, and there could be little doubt that the Mountie was getting a strip torn off his hide.

"Yes, Inspector," Ren said, sounding chastised and Ray could _hear_ the wincing. "No, I-- yes, I _do_ understand-- No, ma'am, I'm not--"

Ray was in the kitchen before he entirely realized he was there, and Ren startled when he turned around, almost dropping the phone. He gave Ray an apologetic look, gesturing to the phone with his free hand, where Thatcher's strident, cool tones came over the line, clipped and sharp.

"I will immediately--" Ren said, closing his eyes in a long moment of resigned frustration, as he got interrupted again.

Ray snatched the phone off of him before he had time to debate on whether it was a good idea, though the adrenaline spike slammed him the minute he spoke into it. "Hey, Thatcher, you wanna slow down and let the man talk?"

There was utter silence on the other end. It struck Ray kind of funny, in that long moment where he realized that he was doing something intensely stupid and _yes_ , that Thatcher and Ren probably were wearing the same expression. Which was jaw-dropped shock.

"On second thought," Ray said, feeling fierce and defiant and _enough hiding_ , "you tell me what you want me to bring you for breakfast or brunch or whatever, and I will, _after_ I get done taking my partner here out to breakfast. _Then_ I'll bring him in."

"...Detective Vecchio?" Thatcher asked, and she sounded like someone had just walked into her office and bashed her in the head with a baseball bat.

"Yeah," Ray said, attitude incarnate. "Detective Ray Vecchio. Snappy dresser, guy you just saw yesterday afternoon, man who's gonna take Turnbull to breakfast and is offering to bring you something Detective Ray Vecchio. You want anything, or not?"

"I..." Another long pause. "That won't... be necessary, Detective."

"Okay. Well, you got my cell if you change your mind. I'll bring him by in an hour, maybe two."

Ren looked like he was ready to pass out, but there was _that_ look in the shock, too, that wondering look that could make Ray's heart ache in the best ways even at the same time he was almost shaking from the adrenaline rush of pulling this stunt.

"Understood," Thatcher said, like she'd just snapped back to herself, and slammed the phone down.

Ray handed the phone back to Ren, who took it delicately like it might just bite him. "You want first go at the shower?"

Ren hung the phone up, still staring at Ray, then ran a shaking hand through his still wild hair. "I... you..."

"You..." Ray prompted, grinning, eyebrows up.

Ren blinked a few times, then gestured. "Go ahead."

It was only after Ray was in the shower that he truly realized he'd just basically outed them to Thatcher while standing naked in Ren's kitchen, after making love for the first time the night before, after dancing, after a disaster of a dinner...

 _Yeah,_ he thought to himself with a grin, and then hurried up and finished washing himself off.

 

 

It took the passing of several minutes for the full implication of what Meg Thatcher had just heard down her telephone to filter in.

"No. I don't suppose you _could_ 'possibly understand', could you, Constable?" Meg asked the silence of her office, one eyebrow up. She didn't know why that line from a while back stuck in her just then. Perhaps because it seemed like such a large, cheeky coded message in sudden retrospect.

Yes, well. This... affair with Vecchio was hardly the same as being a woman in what was still treated often as an ultimately patriarchal organization. One's orientation wasn't a matter one wore on one's sleeve, as plain as day by the simple fit of one's uniform.

That wasn't to say Meg thought it must have been easy. Hindsight wasn't only twenty/twenty but alternatively entertaining and worrying, at points. Perhaps that explained the young Mountie on the _HMS Bounty_ that Turnbull had been flittering around given half a moment's downtime. A sudden but hushed outing could have explained the bizarre nosedive the man's career had taken before he was transferred to Chicago. Perhaps that explained a number of the man's more eccentric traits; an attempt to divert attention from something that would have gotten him treated quite badly indeed? Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and be revealed as homosexual.

Not, upon reflection, a reinterpretation of that proverb anyone would have envisioned.

Meg didn't care. She was a little uncomfortable with the idea that she hadn't known about this before now, but it really didn't matter all that much to her. Personally and professionally it was a matter beyond her register, but she couldn't imagine once anyone else found out that the two would be allowed to work together. Wouldn't happen under her command. And as annoying as the man could be at times, Welsh wasn't stupid.

The abiding question was, of course...

Vecchio? _Really?_

Meg allowed for the possibility that she may be wrong. It wasn't as though they were breathing heavily into the receiver. But neither was she stupid; that impertinent hijacking of her subordinate's phone was a message, loud and clear, and as bizarre a couple as those two made, she wasn't one to ignore messages. Reflecting upon these matters was probably very lucky for Constable Turnbull. It kept her from getting angry about the more mundane, chain of command issues of what just happened.

She wondered what possessed the man to do it. If Vecchio didn't know the kind of repercussions a revelation of that type could have in the RCMP, surely Turnbull did; publicly, the organization had come quite far in tolerance, but there were still a number of high ups who had very firm, very narrow-minded views and could make a career hell without having to do so overtly.

Was the American system really that different? Did Vecchio have nothing to be afraid of, or had that jaunt into undercover left the man a little off? Quite a luxury either way, she thought. The latter might explain the sudden bend toward a man as strange as Turnbull. If Meg was in Turnbull's position she'd probably be terrified about now.

Damn. She could feel her softer instincts taking over. She was going to be _nice_ to the man, she could feel it.

Sighing, she shook her head, and adjusted the phone in the cradle to fit properly.

 

 

Renfield had no way of knowing what Thatcher was thinking, but if he did, he wouldn't have known whether to be comforted or further upset by the idea that she would know how he felt.

He was terrified.

It wasn't _all_ that he was; there was some measure of... of... amazement, as well. A warm glow, even amidst the coiled anxiety, that Ray really was still here in the morning, but not only that, that he was defiantly ready to out himself to Thatcher even as he outed Renfield. But terrified nonetheless.

He had no delusions that Ray Vecchio had not encountered prejudice in his life, and even if he had not come under this sort of discrimination, he had to have seen it and known what he was potentially getting himself into. Renfield clung to that notion as hard as he could: Ray knew what he was getting them into, he knew what this could lead to if it spread beyond Thatcher, and felt strongly enough about it to take the risks anyway.

It did not take away the feeling Renfield had that something terrible would happen.

He had never even conceived of having his orientation known publicly. Not even before Depot; it had simply been an instinctive understanding that it wasn't something to broadcast. He didn't even think to chafe against it. It just... _was_. It was a fact, simple and clear. After Depot, it had become a genuine fear, but either way, it had always been a non-issue. And it had only rarely come up, as he had only rarely taken an interest in anyone enough for it to happen.

To... to be... be _known_ for the first time outside of a very small number of people...

He caught himself rubbing at his wrists, and then snapped his hands down to his sides as he paced his kitchen floor, trying to calm himself down, waiting for Ray to finish with his shower. There was little point in rushing now, after all.

He was _terrified_. She _knew_ , and Ray had _told her_ in every way he could without outright saying it, as though...

No. Ray hadn't said it as though it were nothing. That look in his eyes hadn't been nothing. It had been something, and it had been something important. Renfield was just too busy trying not to panic that he wasn't entirely sure _what_ it had been, why it was important.

He paused by the window and looked out into the bright day, breathing. Thinking. Trying not to tremble.

It was important. Something... fierce. Renfield ran a palm over his face.

It was not as though he didn't know that Ray chafed against conducting this relationship in relative silence. Ray had made it clear without ever having to say it that he was determined to push the limits of privacy; hair-ruffling, now neck-marking, stolen kisses in public. Touching, holding hands.

 _Do I really trust his judgment?_

Right now, Renfield didn't want to. He thought Ray would... would perhaps push, certainly, but that Ray would understand enough to keep it from ever being _known_. That Ray would realize how much trouble it could lead to -- did he believe his _own_ career safe, for that matter? Did he believe that homophobia wouldn't touch him?

...

Renfield raised his lip at himself.

That was entirely the wrong track. And he knew it. He was letting his own fear plant seeds of distrust that had absolutely no reason to be there, and he was painting Ray Vecchio with the entirely wrong brush. The mere thought of continuing to do that made his gut twist, sharply, especially... especially as he could picture the hurt on Ray's face if he ever said that. And the idea of ever hurting Ray was enough to make him want to _cry_ , right there in the kitchen.

All right. Ray had... had essentially told her. It was all right. It would be all right. Yes, he was terrified, but it would be all right. Somehow.

"I am not a beaten dog," he whispered to himself, then huffed a sharp breath out of his nose at that. He should not need reminding of such things, not even by himself. He was _twenty-six_ , he was a _police officer_ , he was not some sort of weak-willed, poorly-armored being who could not and would not _defend himself_ , and for that matter, defend Ray.

It didn't erase the fear, either way.

Turnbull just wished he knew what he was afraid of. What? Scorn and ridicule? He dealt with that on nearly a daily basis, even now. His career ending? Lord help him, but if it came down between the RCMP and Ray, he already knew which he would choose -- he couldn't love in half-measures and wouldn't. Not even when doing so could ruin him.

He didn't know what he was so afraid of. It wasn't 1991; their two countries had at least come some ways in tolerance, even if not as far as he wished. The RCMP had even come some distance since then, in the seven years between then and now. It wasn't the same world, and it likely wouldn't be the same world as now in another seven years.

But it had always just been a fact, before; no one would know, aside those he had trusted, right or wrong. He had never thought to...

And now...

"Hey," Ray said, from behind him, and Renfield jumped a little. Too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

He blinked a few times, trying to keep the anxiety off of his face. Made, admittedly, some easier by the fact that Ray was still naked, aside one of Renfield's large, white towels wrapped around his waist. "Ray."

"You okay?" Ray asked, eyes narrowing slightly. Concern.

"Yes." After a moment, Renfield took a slow, slightly trembling breath and elaborated, "Somewhat... somewhat anxious, perhaps. But okay."

"'Bout Thatcher?"

Renfield nodded. She was actually one of the least concerns in the overall picture, but she was one; his uneasy relationship with her could not be made easier by scathing commentary directed at his personal life, as she already had any number of things to say about his professional life, personality, sanity and otherwise.

Ray frowned a little, looking down and rubbing at the back of his head. "You want, I can run interference. I mean, I can tell her that I railroaded you or somethin', showed up early and talked you into working on something with me..." He looked back up and there was... that look again, the one that made Renfield's heart hurt, made pain spike through his shoulders. Like Ray had done something _wrong_ , just by...

And it was right in that moment that Renfield got it.

Ray chafed against the secrecy because _it_ was wrong. Because he felt, and wanted the world to know. Because he wasn't undercover anymore, subsuming his entire identity to the cause of justice. Because he was _Ray Vecchio_ , and he desperately wanted to show the world that he was in love and...

Renfield loved Ray so fiercely in that moment, it nearly stole his breath again.

He swallowed, then shook his head, a short little motion. "No." _No lies. Not about this._ "No. I said... I said that I would leave it to your judgment."

Ray looked back, eyebrows still drawn slightly. Searching. Worried. He apparently saw something that he liked, though; a light blazed up in his eyes. Something happy, a flare of defiant joy. "You sure?"

It was hard to breathe past his own joy and fear, wrapping his chest in something sharp and warm all at once, but Renfield meant it when he said, "Yes."

 

Meg wanted to slap them both, even at the exact same time something deep in her almost wanted to _smile_.

Turnbull looked at least half of what she expected him to: Terrified. The other half was less expected; there was a certain sharpness in how he was carrying himself, something proud and daring. Vecchio, unsurprisingly, simply looked belligerent, as though he were quite ready to be the nuisance he tended to be.

And if there had been any ambiguousness to the phone call, it was utterly erased by the fact that they were holding hands, standing in front of her desk, their fingers laced together as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I don't _care_ ," she said, without preamble, "since what you do on your time is your business, but I will not have this consulate staffed by a man who can't make it into work on time."

Vecchio went to open his mouth, and Turnbull gave his hand a little tug, barely noticeable, but quite clearly yanking his leash. Meg wanted to snort a laugh at that.

"Yes, sir," Turnbull said. Contrite enough, she supposed.

"This won't happen again. When those doors open, I expect you here, prompt and ready. And if you fail to be here, prompt and ready, it had better be because you're in the _hospital_ , not because you overslept."

"Yes, sir," Turnbull said again.

"For that matter, the next time you call off sick, I hope you're genuinely sick and not elaborately trying to tell me you want a long weekend with your partner by spinning some nonsense story about elephants and lighthouses and cheese."

Vecchio's attitude was apparently hard to maintain when he was busy trying not to laugh. And Turnbull, who was now looking shocked, was at least looking less terrified. Meg supposed that was a good thing. He said, "Ah... yes, sir. I'll remember that."

"Get out of my office, get to your own and get to work." Vecchio's barely repressed laughter was threatening to make _her_ laugh, and Meg wasn't comfortable enough with being amused by this to give into that urge just yet.

"Right away, sir," Turnbull said, practically melting from stiff, formal attention to abject relief.

Of course, they were still holding hands when they left, and of course, Meg could hear Vecchio laughing. She just pressed her own lips together hard, turning back to her own work with a shake of her head.

 

"Hot date?" Huey asked, eying Ray's rumpled, wrinkled clothes. And five-o'clock shadow.

"Something like that," Ray answered, heading to his desk, his hands shaking a little bit. He could still feel Ren's scratches in his back, he knew he looked too much like he'd channeled Kowalski's dress sense, he knew he was occasionally forgetting to breathe...

And he felt _amazing_.

Huey laughed a little, turning back to his desk. "Yeah? You're not gonna tell me any details?"

"Hey, you know a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Ray answered, smoothly. Not adding on the fact that yeah, sometimes a gentleman _did_ , but he'd already taken a pretty big leap on that today, and as weird as it was, he thought -- and was proven right so far -- that Thatcher would be less of an issue than anyone in the 2-7. Yeah, she was the Dragon Lady, but compared to someone like Dewey...

"So, who is it?"

Ray looked up and grinned, a mile-wide grin he didn't even fail to stifle. "Real knock-out. Blue eyes, soft skin, legs to infinity..."

Huey's eyebrows went up and he grinned back. "This knock-out have a name?"

Ray scoffed, still beaming. "Like I'd tell you vultures. Gossip about your own personal lives."

"Yeah." Huey picked up some files, taking them over to drop on Ray's desk, chuckling. "Good for you, Vecchio," he added, something more sincere.

"Thanks, man," Ray said, and pulled the files over, dropping his head with a smile. His sister was gonna ambush him with questions whenever she came back from wherever she was, but so far?

Yeah. It was _really good_.

 

 

The background noise of the city was muffled under the heavy air; the sky was clear, though bright and hazy from the golden light of an August evening settling in for nightfall. It smelled like summer and ozone and sun-warmed concrete, and Ray felt like he could sleep for a week at the same time he thought he could probably hit orbit from where he was, flying that high.

Of course, that feeling probably came from the warm Mountie in his arms.

"You feel good," he said, spoken out against Ren's neck, and the shiver he got in answer just sent him flying even higher.

"So do you," was Ren's soft, slightly ragged reply.

It was still new. Still different, still took some getting used to, still careful, but something had shifted, something that felt _right_ , and Ray didn't know if it was just getting that awkwardness that was first time sex out of the way, or if it was because they made it through the whole day with Thatcher knowing without anything going horrible, but he could feel the trust radiating right off of Ren like he could feel the anxiety last night, and that turned Ray on like he almost couldn't _believe_.

And Ren looked _good_ backed against his own kitchen counter, head back, eyes closed, breathing hard and painted gold and wearing way too many clothes; smelled good, like soap and sunlight and serge and himself. _Felt_ good; powerful, lean, fluid and shivering and Ray pressed in harder, sucking soft against the skin of his neck, right above his uniform collar, feeling a sharp thrill when Ren dragged up his suit jacket and dress shirt and got frustrated briefly with the third layer of his undershirt before he finally got to skin, flattening his hand and pulling Ray against him.

Ray nuzzled his nose up, right under Ren's ear, and whispered, "Bed?" And the emphatic nod he got back sent him _soaring_.

Ray pulled back, wrapped his hand around the back of Ren's neck, pulled; didn't need to, Ren was already going after his suit jacket, and he was smiling, that bright smile that Ray had loved him for before Ray even knew how to be in love with him, energy and joy, walking them towards the bed and holding on the whole way.

No, there was no teaching the 'doing' part.

But at least now, they'd learned how to _dance_.


End file.
